


Redrum

by scrapbullet



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Caning, Dark, Drabble!War, Dubious Consent, Genosha, Kink Lottery, M/M, Minor Character Death, Public Humiliation, may be triggery to some readers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cane, flexible and long, is made of rattan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redrum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kairin16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairin16/gifts), [the_me09](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the_me09).



> Written for Kink Lottery with _caning_ and _public humiliation_ being two of the prompts. I'll give you fair warning; it's a little dark, at least in the sense that Erik gets off on hurting Charles, even if it doesn't actally make him feel better. Thus, it may be triggery to some people.
> 
> ILU, all of you.

“Look what your naive ideals have done, Charles,” Erik murmurs. Corporal punishment on Genosha has come a long way since the very beginning, when mutant kind were slaves to be bought and bent to a master’s whim, and yet, on occasion it must be enforced to quell the anger of the masses. That is to say, that although Erik dislikes it, it is his duty to do so. “Do you see, finally?”

Even when it is an old friend that is knelt before him; Charles, straight-backed and stoic, whose actions had unintentionally caused the death of Erik’s most trusted, most _beloved_ General.

“Oh, I do,” and Charles bows his head, eyes clouded. “I see all too clearly.”

It was Raven, after all, that had fallen. Her body had been practically torn to pieces by their enemies, her beautiful blue flesh skinned from her slowly as she tried desperately not to scream-

Erik grimaces. He can’t afford to think of her, not like that, not now. 

“I loved her.”

The crowd is silent. Their presence isn’t of enjoyment, for it is common knowledge that Professor Xavier loved his sister, and that her death is as much of a punishment as this is. It matters not. That pain is miniscule.

“And I as well.”

Charles suffers; _but not enough_.

The cane, flexible and long, is made of rattan. It sits in Erik’s hands, an extension of self, and as he drags it teasingly over the bare flesh of Charles’ back, he can’t help but recall the peace he’d felt; before Shaw, before the war itself. 

Charles trembles. Erik draws back his arm, and lets it _fly_.

The flesh splits like butter beneath his strokes – once, twice, thrice in quick succession – blood spilling unimpeded down the length of Charles’ back. It pools in the cleft of his naked backside, pausing on the sharp inhale, before propelled thus in rivulets as Charles shudders, choking on his own saliva, the pain too much to bear.

Silence. Their audience breaths with them, and though there are no exultant cheers for _more, harder,_ there are no calls for ceasing either. 

Erik breathes, his body a taut string. His cock throbs insistently, confined in his trousers. The rush, the adrenaline buoys him onward – a fourth, a fifth, red spattering the raised dais, coating his hands – but it isn’t until the sixth cutting blow that Charles cries out, a wretched howl of agony that has little to do with his castigation. It is emotional, pure and simple, a verbal demonstration. 

Were it not for the chain of silver about his neck Charles would no doubt be projecting it, forcing his misery onto every Genoshan inhabitant. 

Erik issues a seventh and an eighth just for Charles’ continued impudence.

Arousal is a heady thing. Charles, juddering, bloodied, _beautiful_ , crying silently and ceaselessly at Erik’s feet; for the first time since Herr Doctors demise he feels _powerful_. His heart bombs in his chest, a steady thrum, palms sweating. The cane slips from his grasp. Charles startles.

“Do you think I forgive you?” Erik asks. He unzips his trousers with practiced finesse, his cock an aching, weeping instrument. He offers it to Charles, to his old friend, rubbing the blunt head over the slick mess of tears on his face; smearing salty pre-cum across to the red, red mouth, plush and worry-bitten.

“No,” Charles replies. His eyes are so very blue through the tears, quite lovely. “You have every right to-”

“Enough.”

A reptilian male shifts, uneasy. Beside him a feral bays for humiliation, the first call for deliverance during this encounter. It triggers a maelstrom, the eye of the storm expanding to encompass their people, their kind, and their final justice is thus; Erik, stroking his turgid cock until he gasps, painting Charles’ face with his cream.

The mob settles, satisfied. 

Erik, however, feels strangely cold.

“This doesn’t bring her back,” Charles whispers, licking his lips. A bead of come hovers on a thread wet eyelash, and his sorrow is palpable. He bleeds. 

It is justice.

Erik walks away.


End file.
